


A Push in the Right Direction

by Emma_Wolf



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-27
Updated: 2013-08-27
Packaged: 2017-12-24 19:01:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/943518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emma_Wolf/pseuds/Emma_Wolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermione's hurt by Ron's jealousy after the Yule Ball and finds comfort with Viktor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Push in the Right Direction

**Author's Note:**

> This is unbeated, so I'd appreciate it if you'd let me know what typos you find.

Hermione fought back tears. She heard Ron’s words echo in her head. She was fraternizing with the enemy. She was hurting Harry. How could he—her best friend—be so cruel? And so completely clueless?

And Harry. He had just stood there with his mouth hanging open, gulping air like a fish out of water.

Someone was coming down the dormitory steps. More than one someone from the giggling.

“The blond boy,” a voice whispered. “Pierre.”

More giggling. Then, “He’s so much older than you!”

“Only a few years!”

The other one gave a “humph!” “And how was your date with Harry? And your sister’s with Ron? Did she say?”

Hermione’s ears perked up. But then she slumped on the sofa, defeated. Did she really want to hear Parvati and Lavender gossip about her best friends? She tiptoed out of the common room, through the portrait hole, and down the hall, walking to she didn’t know where.

She saw Ginny by the entrance to the east wing. She and some boy Hermione didn’t recognize were kissing, her arms around his neck. His hands were further south, one looked like it was creeping to Ginny’s breast.

Hermione flushed. No, she wasn’t jealous. But she did wish sometimes that Ron would…

 _That Ron would what, exactly?_ she demanded of herself.

Hermione frowned. He was her best friend. But his attitude tonight—his jealousy, his spite—didn’t that prove that there was something there? That maybe things weren’t so one-sided as she had feared?

Maybe so, but his attitude also proved that he wasn’t ready for his feelings, whatever they were.

“Give it time,” her mother had said in a letter. Having gotten special permission from the Ministry to communicate by owl, Rose Granger couldn’t write to her daughter enough. She was still enthralled by the novelty of it. No more waiting days for the postman. But Hermione missed the phone and the sound of her mother’s voice. “But boys sometimes need a push in the right direction.” Rose hadn't explained what that had meant, so Hermione was forced to guess. Maybe Ron _needed_ to feel this way. Maybe this was his push. But it didn't make Hermione feel any better.

Yes, she had written to her mother for advice on her love life. Who else did she have to turn to when her best friends were boys? One of whom the very boy who was, as her mother put it, so thick he didn’t know his wand from a hole in the wall. Hermione smiled indulgently when her mother tried to use what she thought would be wizarding slang.

Without realizing where she was going, Hermione found herself in front of the library. She rolled her eyes at herself. Of course this would be where she’d end up. Don’t know what to do? Go to the library. Hopelessly in love with your best friend? Go to the library.

But it wasn’t until she wiped the tears from her eyes that she realized she wasn’t alone.

“I did not think our date was that bad, Her Mine Ninny.”

She noticed the improvement in pronunciation and laughed. “You’ve been practicing.”

“Better?”

She nodded enthusiastically. “Much!”

“Why are you crying?”

“It’s…” she started. Then she shook her head. No. How to tell her date from a few hours ago about the troubles of her love life? That was tasteless at best.

What had she told Ginny? Move on. Look for someone else. Someone who values you.

“It’s my friend Harry,” she concluded lamely. She fished her mind for details. “He’s younger than you all. And the stress.”

Viktor nodded understandingly. “It’s hard on all of us. But I cannot imagine, without all my training and experience, what it must be like.”

“Go easy on him,” she said under a smile. “If the next task involves, I don’t know, dueling or something.”

Viktor shrugged. “I thought all is fair in love and war.”

Hermione let herself laugh and not think about that the fact that her date, an international Quidditch star, had just said the “l” word to her. Ok, maybe not the context people may have meant when they talked about using “the ‘l’ word,” but it still made her blush.

Viktor looked confused. “You love him?”

Hermione laughed again. Viktor had a way about him. His accent. His shy way of speaking. As though he was unsure of himself. “No, Viktor. I told you. We're just friends.”

He nodded, but in his eyes she could see he didn’t believe her. Not entirely.

“I saw you fight at the ball. With your other friend Ron. What was that?”

Hermione closed her eyes. It hurt her to hear him say his name. “He just…” No, she wouldn’t make excuses for him. “He’s jealous,” she said with a sly smile.

Viktor grinned too. “Of me?” he asked mischievously.

She nodded. She looked mischievous too. She bit her lip and lowered her gaze. Wasn’t that what she was supposed to do? Wasn’t that what it said in _Witch Weekly_?

“That’s silly,” Viktor said dismissively. He almost sounded hurt by it.

Hermione shrugged indulgently. “Well, you’re you. You’re a famous Quidditch player. You have the world falling at your feet. You could have any girl you want. And he…” she trailed off, not wanting to say anything negative about the jealous fool that was still her best friend.

“And he,” Viktor began, “still gets to be near you after this dumb competition is over. He gets to sit next to you every morning at breakfast and carry your books to class.”

She had to laugh. “Ron has never carried my books to class,” she wanted to say. But that was before she saw Viktor’s face. His eyes looking at her earnestly. His lips slightly parted as though waiting for something.

She leaned forward, suddenly realizing what he was waiting for and why he was at the library at this late hour. And Viktor closed the distance between them. He tasted of some foreign spice and wild promises. His hand ran through her hair, getting tangled in its curls and pulling gently.

She pulled away from him to catch her breath. Viktor looked disquieted, reluctant to meet her eyes. “I’m sorry, Her Mine Ninny. That was…”

“Perfect,” she said breathlessly.

“ _Da._ That was perfect.” He leaned forward for another kiss, more confidant the second time. Hermione closed her eyes and fell into his perfect kiss.

She slid her hand up Viktor’s sculpted torso, taking care to feel all his firm muscles beneath his layers of well-cut dress robes. _This is what a Qudditch player feels like,_ she thought as though she was studying and he was a question she had to answer. Not like Ron, who she imagined would feel wiry and thin. Almost frail compared to Viktor. She pushed that thought out of mind as she fumbled with the buttons at the neck of Viktor’s robes.

He pushed her onto her back. The wooden library table was hard and unforgiving. Hermione struggled to recall a cushioning spell, but Viktor’s hands distracted her. He loosened the ties in the back of her robes and nuzzled his face into her breasts.

She thought of Ron’s scolding face again, jealous and accusing. What would he say if he saw them now? And did that make her want to take things further?

“Yes,” she said out loud in response to Viktor’s roaming hands and her own unspoken question. She didn’t know what excited her more—Viktor’s passion or the thought of Ron’s jealousy.

Years later, when Hermione was long married to her jealous fool of a best friend, she would recall her time with Viktor and those feelings—the reciprocal of jealousy—that the two of them aroused in her. It would bring that same mischievous look to her face.

And Ron would ask her “what is it then? What did Vicky do this time?”

She’d shrug her shoulders and smile, knowing that at night, after the kids would be in bed, that jealous fool of a husband would make love to her like he had something to prove.


End file.
